


Children shouldn't play with Angel Blades

by jensennjared



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Parenthood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-21
Updated: 2015-07-21
Packaged: 2018-04-10 12:53:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4392662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jensennjared/pseuds/jensennjared
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester and Castiel have been gifted with a son.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Children shouldn't play with Angel Blades

Castiel knew that if he were ever going to hang up his trench-coat, the reason would have to be important. Over the years, it had become a part of his fractured identity - an armour of sorts - and to take it off would be to put an end to his old life. 

The reason came in the form of Dean Winchester, down on one knee, asking to marry him. Dean had been sitting on the question for months, pushing the words around his mouth, searching for the right time. Two months after the gates of hell were sealed, Dean summoned his courage and asked Castiel to make him the happiest guy in the world. The angel, of course, said yes. The night before their wedding, Castiel draped his trench-coat over a hanger and placed it at the very back of the closest. He had worn it loyally as Dean’s protector and as his friend; now, it made sense to wear something different, something that connoted normalcy rather than bloodshed and terror. 

A year after marrying, Dean and Castiel were gifted with Robert. He had dark hair and ocean blue eyes. Even as a baby, he always wore a pensive expression as if it took him time to consider everything thoughtfully. Dean said he was every inch Castiel, and he was right. 

“Bobby?” Dean calls from his seat on the couch. Castiel is not yet back from work, and Dean’s the resident father in charge. Robert is nearly three years old; he’s walking constantly, staggering about and tripping over his feet. Castiel had insisted on baby proofing the entire apartment, and even now, he gasps loudly if Robert tumbles over. 

Dean hears nothing but silence. Robert has a taste for mischief. Only last week did Castiel find his son elbow deep in a tub of diaper rash ointment; he’d painted his whole body with it, and had massaged it into his hair, clumping up the dark strands into a creamy mess. It was adorable to see their son masquerading as a chubby, little ghost, but the clean up was not so cute. 

Dean rounds the corner to their bedroom. The cupboard doors are open, and he can see piles of clothes littering the floor. Coat hangers lie discarded, and shoes boxes have been upended and pushed around the room. He can hear rustling and sighing as if an unknown animal has decided to root through the apartment. His fingers close about the door handle and he draws it back, peeking behind the wood. Sandwiched between coats and pairs of jeans is Robert. His tiny hands are clutching at clothes, taking fistfuls of fabric between his fingers. Dean’s gaze drops to the sandy coloured coat falling about his son’s shoulders. The hem drags across the carpet; it’s far too long and far too big for its current wearer. 

Robert seems to sense his father’s presence. He turns around with wide blue eyes and a smile spreads across his full pink lips. He steps forward, arms outstretched in anticipation of Dean’s embrace. Dean drops down to his knees, meeting his son at eye level.

“Daddy.” Robert mumbles, before turning sheepish. He doesn’t speak much. Thankfully, his features are expressive enough that Dean and Castiel have developed an unspoken language with their son. 

“Now, you are just 5000 times cuter than your dad ever was wearing that thing.” Dean touches Robert on the cheek; his thumb drifts across the soft skin. 

“I’m not so sure about that.” Castiel strides into the bedroom. Home from work, he had enjoyed a few moments quietly observing his husband and child. He smiles at the way in which Robert stumbles forward. The coat drags across the floor, and Castiel manages to catch him just in time before he tumbles to the ground. 

“Heya Cas.” No amount of time could ever tarnish the way in which Dean says the angel’s name. He bestows the syllable with earnest affection. Castiel smiles at Dean; his eyes lighting up as his gaze glides over his husband. Then his attention is caught by the wriggling child in his arms. 

“What are you doing, mister?” Cas asks Robert. His tone is teasing and he tickles Robert just under the armpits. 

“He’s trying it on for size.”

“It will be some years yet before it fits you, honey.” Castiel pulls at the loose fabric around Robert’s shoulders. It’s practically a blanket on Robert, and it makes Cas smile. 

“It’s pretty creepy, y’know, how much he looks like you.” Dean offers. “Give the kid an angel blade and he’s all set.”

“Dean, we are not giving our son an angel blade.” Castiel’s tone turns reproachful, and Dean rolls his eyes in playful exasperation. Castiel has a tendency to err on the side of caution when it comes to anything to do with Robert. He’s the overbearing and overprotective parent and it suits him so well. “He has us for protection, and besides they’re hardly child friendly.”

“Relax Cas, I wasn’t actually planning on giving Bobby an angel blade.” Dean notices the tension in Castiel’s shoulders dissipate. Castiel still hasn’t got a handle on sarcasm, and it’s in doubt that he ever will. 

“Oh, well, okay then.” Castiel presses his lips together, avoiding Dean’s gaze. He doesn’t care to see the smug glint in his husband’s eye. “I agree, the trench coat certainly suits him. Perhaps he’ll be a tax accountant or a lawyer-”

“Is that - is that blood? Is he bleeding?” Dean’s gaze zones in on a crimson stain under the lapel. It seems to have blossomed across the fabric. He leans forward, his fingers spreading out across Bobby’s small chest as he tries to discern what’s happened. 

“Dean, he’s fine.” Castiel’s hand falls on Dean’s shoulder, squeezing it gently for reassurance. “It’s merely a stain. Dean, he’s fine.” Typically, Castiel is the worrisome one; Dean takes a laid-back approach to parenting. It’s borne of the need to be nothing like his father. 

“Couldn’t have thrown it in the wash first, huh Cas?” Dean asks. He rubs his face with his hand, easing the tension in his forehead. 

“There was no need. I didn’t intend to wear the coat again.” 

“Then, why keep it?” 

“It, uh, it has sentimental value.” Dean shrugs; his lips turn down at the corners. Castiel sighs. “I was wearing it when I met you, Dean.” 

Silence engulfs them, and they look at each other with tenderness. Dean’s features soften, his mind replaying the moment when Castiel walked into a barn and changed his life. The soft sound of Robert yawning interrupts their reverie, and they both look down at their son. 

“Time for bed, kiddo.” Dean scoops Bobby up into his arms, wrapping the trench coat around him as he carries Bobby into his bedroom. 

Castiel and Dean laboured for a whole week decorating Robert’s room. They picked out galaxy themed wallpaper down at Home Depot. Castiel spent hours smoothing the paper across the walls; Dean spent hours painting demon blocking sigils under the carpet. Despite Castiel’s insistence that the gates of hell had closed over a year ago, Dean believed that they couldn’t be too careful. Together they glued glow in the dark stars to the ceiling. 

Pushing open the door with his foot, Dean carries his son to the crib. Placing his son down, Dean presses a kiss onto Robert’s forehead. Robert’s eyelids are beginning to droop; the Sandman is imminent.

“Maybe we should remove the coat?” Castiel says, coming up silently behind Dean. He stands close to the retired hunter; he can smell Dean’s aftershave and the coffee on his breath. “It is incredibly dirty.”

“Nah, leave it for tonight. It won’t do him any harm.” Dean replies, shrugging his shoulders. “You can get it tomorrow.” Castiel walks forward; he leans over the crib and lays a hand on Robert’s head. He can feel the heat from his skin, and he can hear the steady beat of his heart. To Castiel, his son is a miracle. Castiel steps back, before following Dean from the room.

“Did you really keep that coat ‘cause of me?” Dean asks, his curiosity taking hold. 

“Of course.” Castiel nods. 

“Do you remember that day?” 

“Yes, you stabbed me. That was a wonderful first impression.” Castiel teases. Dean nods his head, rubbing the back of his neck. Castiel looks down at the floor. “I remember my faith in the mission, how truly I believed in the cause I had been handed. I remember how strange you seemed. When I pulled you from hell, your soul was fragile and pained; when we met again in Illinois, I was confronted by your strength. I was an angel and you were human. You dared to challenge me, and I found you… captivating.” Castiel takes a breath as if to say something else, but instead closes his mouth into a soft line. 

“And then, you rebelled. Started fighting the good fight.” Dean glances past Castiel’s shoulder. It’s in these moments when Dean remembers how much they’ve sacrificed for each other. Guilt bites at Dean’s heels. “You gave up everything. Your life, your mission, your family.” 

“We both made sacrifices, Dean.” Castiel says, nodding his head to emphasise his point. He lays a gentle hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Together, we saved the world. I could not have accomplished such a feat without you - and Sam. You both became my friends. And then, my family. You and Robert are my cause now.” Gingerly, he reaches out, cupping Dean’s jaw with his right hand. He brings his lips closer, and kisses Dean. The kiss is soft and reassuring; it speaks to the unbreakable, profound bond formed a few years ago in a barn in Illinois. A few tender moments later, they break apart and find each other’s gaze. 

“You should keep the coat, Cas.” Dean says, a broad smile lighting up his eyes. Castiel nods. He would have kept it anyway.


End file.
